


I've got a slow groove in my mind

by Florchis



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Edge Play, Edging, Explicit Consent, F/M, Fitz is always demisexual in my stories, I know this is porn, MCU Kink Bingo, Mention of bondage but no actual bondage, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, but it still... shows, sexy talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 16:29:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15004832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Florchis/pseuds/Florchis
Summary: After two weeks apart, Daisy is really worked up with wanting to see Fitz again. Fitz has in mind something else than hot and rushed.





	I've got a slow groove in my mind

**Author's Note:**

> From an anon prompt: “did i make you this wet, sweetheart?”. Also fills the square "edge play" in my MCU Kink Bingo Card.

_'Cause I got a man with a slow hand_

_I got a lover with an easy touch_

_I got somebody who will spend some time_

_Not come and go in a heated rush_

* * *

They are really good together, but there are times when it is clear that she and Fitz haven’t clicked all the way yet. Today is one of those times: they haven't seen each other in two weeks and she would like him to take her up on his arms like some sort of fantasy prince, take her to bed and ravish her on the spot; but instead, he wants to take her out to eat.

She could protest, of course, but the moment she is opening her mouth to do so, he pushes her hair aways to uncover her left collarbone, and after he places a soft kiss there, he murmurs hotly on her ear, “Wear something nice. You want to be ready for when dessert comes, right?”

Okay, so he _does have_ something planned. She doesn’t look at him because she knows that her desire is written all over her face, and clearly they are not playing the rushed and desperate game right now. Still, she can not help a little bounce on her step while she searches for the short purple dress she knows drives him out of his fucking mind.

* * *

She wouldn’t say it to his face, because this relationship is too new for that kind of sentimentality- they have been dating for only four months, and sure, they were friends before that, but more the teasing kind of friends than the deep-hearts-to-heart kind of friends-, but she missed him. Sex with him, of course, but even more than that, she missed _him,_ the quiet intimacy they can share, and the way he looks at her like there is no other place in the world he’d rather be than with her telling him intricate technicalities from work.

He does know how to make a partner feel loved, that’s for sure, and she can not tell him that in so many words, not yet, but she is coming to terms with the way it makes her feel.

She likes that- despite telling her to dress up- he didn’t take her to a fancy place, because she is not in the mood for composure. She prefers this place, her old favorite diner, where no one is going to give her a stinky eye if she laughs too loud or where no one bats an eye when Fitz decides to sit on the same side of the booth as her, instead of the opposite one. Daisy took that as a manifestation of needing to be near her and nothing more, and since she wants to crawl to his lap and embrace him hard, hard, hard, skin on skin, she lets him do this without making a comment.

Fitz places a hand on her thigh when their starters arrive, and Daisy squeezes it shortly because she is glad for the contact too. She is starting to think that going out for dinner was a good call after all- she feels relaxed and the stress from the trip and the separation is melting away from her bones. But then Fitz moves his hand to the top of her thigh, almost under the hem of her skirt, and her breath hitches. She looks for his eyes, but he turns around to ask the waiter for some water, and he is obviously doing this on purpose, the smug bastard.

Once he turns back again, she hisses at him.

“What are you doing?”

He gives her a half-smile, and there is a mischievous gleam in his eyes that makes her mouth salivate more than any of the food ever could.  

“Me? Nothing?”

She taps his hand with an indignant finger.

“Do you call this nothing?”

He shrugs, playing it innocently.

“I just missed my girlfriend, and I want to be close to her. Is that a crime?”

She gotta give him that:  it is a bold move but not a risky one; if they were to be seen, they would look more like two lovebirds incapable of keeping their hands off each other than outrageous exhibitionists. He is not really doing anything scandalous. Yet.

“No.” Her voice comes out rough, and he grins.    

She is delirious of desire for him; the abstinence, the warmth from his hand, the smell of having him so close, the thrill, they all mix together in a convo arousing enough to make her soak through her panties, and he doesn’t need her telling him so, because he knows it. _The smug bastard._

He inches his hand a tiny bit higher, and the nail of his pinky scrapes against the lace edge of her panties, but his voice is loving and filled with respect when he whispers in her ear, “If this makes you uncomfortable, our rules still apply. They _always_ apply.”

Instead of replying, she grabs her orange juice and swirls her tongue around the straw until he gulps hard. Two can play this game.

She makes a point of looking him straight in the eyes while she says, “Very, very green.”  

* * *

By the time they leave the diner, she can’t even remember what they ate, only the weight of his hand on her leg and the hot flow of promises for later he spilled in her ear all through their meal. Luckily, they have an only five minutes walk home, and she waits till they are at his apartment building to do anything. That is on itself a great feat, the cool night air has chilled her skin, but the cooling sensation hasn’t translated to between her legs, where she is wet and throbbing, and rubbing her thighs together has done very little to soothe the ache.

Him holding her hand all the walk home hasn’t helped matters either.

Once they get inside the elevator, she slams him against the wall with more force than she intended and attaches her mouth to his neck until she draws a moan out of him. He is hard against her hip, and she wiggles her hips against him intentionally, a little for revenge, a little because she likes to feel that he wasn’t unaffected by a full hour of semi-touching her and whispering dirty things on her ear.

“What are you onto, Fitz?”

He doesn’t even try to play it innocent this time, he just grabs her hand and drags her inside the apartment; once inside, he presses her against the door and grabs her hips to pull her close to him.

“ The anticipation, the build up. Doesn’t it feel good?”

She tilts her head, giving him access to her neck, and he leaves a trail of kisses from her ear to the hollow of her throat.

“Don’t you think these last two weeks have built up enough anticipation?”

She knows enough about the way they experience sex differently for her question to be honest and not bitter; she knows that his brain has a kind of switch when it comes to sex: it’s on when he’s with her, but it’s almost always off when they are apart. He wants her now, she has no doubt of that, but he is not carrying the metaphorical blue balls she is.

He peppers kisses around the edge of her sternum until he reaches the other side, and he bites down on her collarbone, hard enough to make her hiss, and then soothes the sting with his tongue.

“Give me a minute to present my case, will you?”

He manhandles her with his hands on her hips until he drops her down on the chair closer to the door. He kneels in front of her and pulls up her skirt, smirking at the dark spot on her panties. Daisy is too busy trying to drag in air to even be embarrassed.

“Oh, did I make you this wet, sweetheart?”

 _The bastard._ He doesn’t wait for a comeback and proceeds to bury his nose against her sex, getting intoxicated in the smell, and the constant brush of his nose against her clit makes her hand itch to tug on his curls until he eats her out into tomorrow. Besides a gentle circling, he doesn’t move, and when she is about to start begging, he looks up at her, with those blue eyes that always take her breath away.

“If you want, I can make you come in forty seconds.” She scoffs but doesn’t protest any further, because he _can_ do that and they both know it. He seems to notice it, and in recognition of her silence, moves apart the gusset of her panties and skims his fingers through her folds. “But I have a different proposition for you. If you let me play with you for, let's say, twenty minutes without coming, I promise it will feel bloody amazing when you finally do.” He gives her clit a thorough rub with his thumb as an incentive, and he waits till her shudder subsides to continue. “As an added bonus, I will do whatever you want after. And I mean it, _whatever_ you want.”

“As if you don’t normally do whatever I ask.”

He laughs, and teases her entrance with the tip of his index finger, and she doesn’t know if the bolt of arousal it’s supposed to be a punishment or a reward.

“Fair enough. Anyway, are you game?”

She feels a tiny bit rebellious and hungry, but maybe for that reason is that he wants to do this, so he can wind up that desire higher and higher before it consumes her.

Besides, she is always game to try new things with him.

“Yes.”

He ostensibly sets the timer on his cellphone and beams at her, and that alone is worth the twenty minutes of sweet torture for which she is volunteering.

“Whenever you feel like you are about to come, give me a heads up so I can slow down, yeah?”

“What makes you think that you could make me come more than once in twenty minutes?”

He doesn’t even bother raising his head to reply to her taunt.

“Daisy, let's be honest here: the challenge is on you, not on me.”

One of the reasons why she likes him so much is because he is not smug or bigheaded. Except for times when he has _reasons_ to be pedant: he is all about the hard, cold facts, and not bragging about something if he has no receipts to prove it. Making her come is one of the cases where he has all the receipts he could want, and oh, does she like him for that reason too.

She is opening her mouth to quip back when he pumps two fingers in her in one swift motion, helped by how wet she already is, and her witty remark turns into a brazen moan, her whole body convulsing when he finds her G-spot in five seconds flat.

“Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to do this here, eh? Maybe I should have done it on the bed, where I could tie you up so you can not move.”

He is searching her face carefully, and he nods vehemently, a silent agreement to what is more of a proposal for a time to come- pun totally intended _-_ than a complaint about this moment. He lowers his head after that, his eyes fixed on his own fingers, and for good measure, he starts rubbing on her clit with his other thumb.

Daisy feels decadent and lush, and for a moment she has a thought for his seat cushion, that she is probably drenching. To help with that a little, he tangles her fingers on his hair, and pushes encouragingly on his head; he takes the not-at-all subtle hint in stride and replaces the thumb fingering at her clit with his tongue, sucking it once and then peppering it with small, lazy, kitten-like licks. The sensation turns electric, a lot more intense than when he was using just his fingers, and in two shaky breaths she is on the edge of falling apart.

“Stop, just, stop.” She pushes on his shoulder to convey the message strongly and uses her other arm to cover her eyes.

It is not as painful as she thought it would be, to be hanging on the edge, but it is a strange experience and her body is reacting accordingly: out of sync breathing and her muscles screaming for more while Fitz just strokes the inside of her slick thighs.

He makes it to maybe a dozen strokes or so before asking, “Colour?”

Her heart rate has slowed down enough for her to say, “Green.”

This time, he pushes her legs open wider with his hands before delving right in with just his mouth, and though not being filled should help her a little, the arousal climbs fast to where it was just a moment ago. He knows how to push all her buttons, and he actually  is holding back; he could make her come faster than she would be able to react, especially when she is already so turned on- he has done it before when they were on a hurry for a reason or another, or just teasing each other. Which means he is holding back on his ministrations now, and the idea that he could make this even harder for her, for some reason makes her hotter.

“Yellow, yellow,” she chants, and _fuck,_ isn’t that embarrassing, that she already needed to stop twice? How long has it been? Ten, maybe twelve minutes? Fuck, she really wants this bad, doesn’t she?

“You are doing amazing, baby girl.” His voice is endearing and awed, and she makes the mistake of looking at his face, his chin shiny with her wetness, and that makes her aching pussy throb hard. “Do you think you can take seven more minutes?”

She nods, not trusting her own voice to not betray her. Seven minutes. That’s… four hundred and twenty seconds, right? She can do this.

_One._

_Two._

_Three._

_Four._

_Five._

But Fitz is thrusting his tongue inside her, while rubbing strong, steady circles on her clit, and the numbers fly completely away from her mind. This time doesn’t even feel like they stopped at all, her desire is a continuum that has not tampered down at any moment, and keeps escalating higher and stronger. She tries playing with her breasts, pinching her nipples hard to distract herself from the need to come, but it is a mistake; not only her nipples are wired directly to her clit, but when Fitz looks up and sees what she is doing, he moans brokenly and redoubles his efforts, replicating the pinching she is using on her nipples on her clit.

Her entire body is shaking, desperate for relief, the muscles of her legs are on fire, and she considers briefly just letting go, not stopping and allowing herself to fall into her orgasm freely; at the moment, she is really hanging on will and nothing else.

She pushes on his shoulder harshly, and she knows this is the last stopping point she will be able to take before it turns painful. This time, in lieu of slowing down, Fitz raises to his knees and kisses her, his tongue licking inside her mouth crazily, his fingers on the back of her neck, shaking and wet.

“One more time?” His voice is gentle, and she is not afraid that he will get mad or disappointed if she says no, and that’s why she says yes.

This time he uses only his fingers, obviously wanting to keep eye contact with her, and probably is all the pent-up arousal and the fact that he is hitting all the sweet spots inside her, but she is a tiny bit sure that seeing his face is what makes the force of her sensations sky-rocket. Her body is stretched tight like a spring coil, and the moment he starts stroking her lower back in the way he knows she can’t resist, even when they are not having sex, she snaps.

“Fitz? Please? I need it, Fitz. Please, please, Fitz?” She is begging and she doesn’t even care; she is too focused on trying to keep her breathing under control. There is fire on her veins, and as much as a gust of air could send her toppling down; she is so turned on that even if he stopped touching her altogether, she might still come at the sound of his voice alone. But he is not stopping, instead he is being relentless with the way he is fingering her, and soon her requests turn into a string of moans and whimpers.

“Time is up, baby girl. You can come whenever you want.”

She wants to curse at him for setting a silent alarm, but she was right on her guess: his voice and having permission and the strong hold he keeps on her lower back and the sick twist he does with his wrist, they all make the bubble pop, only that instead of falling, she rises and rises and rises in pleasure. When she is finally coming down, Fitz latches his mouth on her clit, sending her into another, smaller orgasm, that leaves her a shivering, soaked mess.

It takes her a moment to come back fully to her senses. Fitz is lapping up at her sticky inner thighs, and she strokes his curls to get him to look up. For someone that has just given her a mind-shattering orgasm, he looks like a puppy who has been given his favorite candy. This man, she swears.   

“You did amazing, Daisy. Was it good?”

She rolls her eyes fondly at him.

“You fucking know it was.”

“Good. Good. Now, I believe I have a debt to pay.”

She beacons him to rise to her level, and she bits playfully on his lower lip. He is hard as a rock against her knee, and she is going to have so much fun with him.

“Give me five minutes to recover and you will have to make up for two weeks of blue balls.”

He licks his lip, clearly affected, and rocks his hips against her, probably unintended. Daisy grins.

“Deal.”         

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of LLF Comment Project, whose goal is to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites:
> 
>   * Short comments
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>   * “<3” as extra kudos
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> This author replies to comments (but it might take a while). If you'd rather not get a reply, please add *whispers* to your comment.



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